Promise
by Xeen Cyr
Summary: Well, it seems that Rachel is seeing Peter after all...
1. Prologue

**FRINGE**

**Promise**

_No __copyright inFRiNGEment intended. _

_Note: __this is an alternate POV. What if (as Josh Jackson hinted it at the PaleyFest last week) Peter was indeed seeing Rachel?_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Olivia woke up to the sound of laughters and rattles coming from somewhere in the apartment. She stayed still in her bed for a moment, trying to make sense of the odd noises and tantalizing smell. She finally decided to see for herself. She would not go back to sleep anyway. She tossed away her duvet, and put her naked feet on the floor, pressing her hands on her eyes to fight away the last shreds of sleep and headed directly to the kitchen.

Maybe she'd been imagining these noises, maybe it was only a bad dream. She had learnt more about bad dreams lately that she ever wished for. To be honest, she'd had enough for a lifetime. She was not ready yet to becoming the subject of her cases and the centre of a most likely Massive Dynamics scheme meant to transform innocent children into an army of senseless fanatics. Conveniently, their experiment records have been erased. She will have to grill Walter about that. She was two hundred percent sure that he was hiding something from her, --and most likely from his son too.

Yes, she was going to confront him. Now that she was up, she could as well go to his hotel right now. But first thing first. She repressed a yawn and turned to the kitchen. She heard distinctly a door being shut behind her and stopped in her tracks. No, that couldn't…

The lights were off, and her sister was in the middle of her kitchen, dishevelled and half naked.

"Rach? What are you doing up this early?" she asked, checking the time on the micro-wave oven digital clock.

3:46.

"I was having a craving for…"

"Bacon? And peanut butter? Last time I checked, you were a vegetarian or something," said Olivia, her eyes on a pile of sandwiches, opened jars and a pack of bacon strips already half eaten into. "You usually sleep like a log. Something wrong? Greg's bothering you again with his unlikely stories?" She dropped on a stool. She was having trouble keeping her voice down. She simply couldn't control its unexpected shiver. On the other hand, it was quite normal, she had been startled awake and…

"No, no," Rachel interrupted her train of thoughts. "It's not Greg. I couldn't sleep and I found myself hovering to the fridge and, had you not barged in on me, I would have probably eaten the whole pack! See, this bacon had done nothing else but sit down here for a week or so. And Ella doesn't like it, I can't remember why I bought it in the first place. You're not even home for dinner most of the days and…"

"Wow, wow, wow! You sure you've been having any sleep at all? You were never so talkative at the wee hours and I was sound asleep while I'm the one taking caffeine pills…"

"You're right," Rachel admitted immediately. "I was having troubles sleeping. So I came here, I opened the fridge, I saw the bacon and then I looked up above it and there're tomatoes, and I looked down below and there's a bowl of lettuce."

"I see where you're going with that…" Olivia chuckled. "Then you looked to the side on the cupboard and there is just enough bread left and before you knew it, it was BLT time again!"

"Yeah, now you're getting the hang of it. So at first I cooked just half the bacon and ate a couple slices. And then I made a BLT. But it was so good, I had to go back…"

"… so you cooked more bacon, sliced more tomatoes…"

"Yeah. Crazy, huh?"

"Yes, it is. Since you're not going to eat all that, you're gonna spare me some. I'm feeling famished now!"

"Dig in! There's plenty. I'll get back to bed now," Rachel gestured to her room with a wince. "Listen, Ella wanted to sleep on the couch so don't turn on the living room light, Liv. She's been having bad dreams. I think that's the vaccination. She had a strong reaction and she's been driving me mad ever since. Next time, I won't even try to be the caring mother and I certainly won't explain everything. I did more harm than good."

"You're a very good and caring mother as it is, Rach. Now, go back to bed. I'll tidy the place up for you."

Rachel disappeared without further ado and Olivia heard her door creak, --again. She sank her teeth inside the first sandwich and tried to ignore the weird feeling that made her sick to her stomach.

-o-

She kept on pounding on the door, too bad if she had to wake up half the hotel guests. For whatever reasons, she needed to get out of her apartment, she needed answers and she needed them right now. She was not in the mood to delay her questions any further. She should have confronted Walter way before already. Deep inside her, since she'd heard of Cortexiphan, she knew, she knew that Walter might have been a part of this experiment. A very important part.

"We don't need anything," Walter slammed the door open. His hair stuck up, his face even more wrinkly than his usual, he was in his dusky red robe and wearing wool socks. He grabbed the lapels to keep his robe shut and locked his eyes on Olivia, dumbstruck. "Oh, it is you Agent Dunham! Oh, oh…" he glanced behind his back.

"Walter? Are you all right?"

It seems that about everybody was acting out this morning. She smiled and pressed him.

"May I come in… Walter?"

"It's… I-I… yes, I guess you may. Please, do come in," he invited her inside, now avoiding any eye contact. "But I'm afraid Peter is not here," he prompted. "He didn't come back to the hotel last night."

"You're the one I wanted to see Walter."

"Oh… Really? I had no idea you were into m…"

"Walter?" she said with a stern stare. He stopped immediately and glanced sheepishly in her direction. "You're well enough now to be on your own, aren't you?" she said gently, the urge to discovering the truth or some missing pieces of a larger scheme suddenly evaporating.

Walter nodded and sat down on the couch. She watched him absently. So her gut feeling was right. She squinted, fighting a touch of panic attack and shoved her hands deep inside her coat pockets. She had to stay calm. She knew that she was only grasping at straws there and that she had no solid ground to base her fears on. But unless she was willing to delude herself further more, everything seemed to add up quite perfectly. She eventually sat beside him and put on hands on her lap, lost in her thoughts.

"So you did not want to talk to Peter?" Walter said, seemingly oblivious of her inner struggle. Was he? Or was he being cruel?

"I want you to tell me everything you know about Cortexiphan. I mean it Walter."

"The truth is not always right, agent Dunham. You should not seek it unless you're willing to bear additional burden."

"What do you mean?"

"I am sure that deep down, you don't want to know the truth, Olivia."

"You're wrong. Go ahead, I'm listening."

-o-

She had to talk to someone. Charlie. She checked her watch. Charlie will be up and running in Central Park. She put her hand in her pocket but she might have left her phone inside her car. She searched her car, her bag, went back to Walter's hotel room but stopped before knocking on his door.

She had never forgotten to take her phone with her once since she's been with the FBI. And it had been a long time. She started the engine and drove back to her place. It was not an honest mistake. Her subconscious has been acting out today. It was a very subconscious deliberate mistake. She stepped on the gas and went back to Brighton.

She parked right in front of her building, strode up the stairs, and dashed inside. Her phone was in the kitchen. So was Peter, who was nursing a cup of coffee in his boxer shorts.

"Hi," he said.

"I-I… I forgot my phone."

She retrieved the cell from the table and cleared her throat, awkwardly standing from one foot to the other and trying desperately to find something else to say.

"Okay," he chuckled.

"What is it supposed to mean?" she hissed.

"Nothing." He dropped his head to his chest. "You forgot your phone? Olivia, are you listening to yourself?"

"What is wrong with leaving your phone home. It happens."

"You of all people, you would never do that, not under any circumstances. I know you Olivia, you wouldn't."

"You think you can be the judge of that?"

"Hey, cool down. I don't intend to raid your fridge or steal your silverware or anything."

She turned around but he followed her.

"I can even repay you a pack of coffee if you insist."

"Don't push it Peter, I'm not in the mood for your little games right now."

"Hey, I come in peace!"

"Yes, I can see that. Peace, sex and macchiato."

"Dunham, you needed me to get my father out of the nut house, you got me, and you purposely put me in the middle of your little rodeo. I didn't make you any promises. Remember when I told you to be careful what you wish for? I was not only warning you about my father."

She shrugged without slowing down, her back to him.

"Olivia, I'm still your friend."

She slammed the door behind her.

"Whatever," he sighed and took a sip of his coffee.

"Peter, aunt Liv never screams like that," said Ella from the couch. "Is she mad at you?"


	2. Second Thoughts

**FRINGE**

**Promise**** – part2**

_No __copyright inFRiNGEment intended. _

Note: Is Peter having second thoughts?

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Where is Olivia? I got to talk to her," Peter said and he rushed inside the lab.

The door shut with a bang. He tossed his coat, beanie, gloves and scarf on the stair railing and sprinted to Olivia's office without a pause.

"Good morning to you too," said Astrid between her teeth. She frowned and turned back to her work. It was just another at the lab. Walter trotted up the stairs and followed his son.

"Peter, here you are, at last. You could have called me son," he whined. "I was really worried."

Peter turned to him and started to walk backwards at a quick pace.

"Oh, you were, really?" he said stretching out his arms to emphasize his words. "Like when you took me out for a day trip and left me hanging in the Swamp gift shop in New Orleans until the Audubon zoo finally closed and had to call Children's Services, or, let me see… Was it in Washington DC instead, that time you got me arrested because I had to "feel" the way it is to be in the pilot seat of _Space Ship One_ at the National Air and Space Museum?"

"You know I would have much preferred the Enterprise, but it was not exhibited back then. Now that the Smithsonian transferred it to Dulles, I can take you if you want to."

"That's exactly what I'm saying. You don't give a rat's ass. So please, leave me alone."

Peter barged inside Olivia's office and stopped abruptly. Walter nearly collided into him and dropped his files to the floor. A multicoloured pile of sheets cascaded down at his feet. He gave them a tragic stare and shook his head in disbelief.

Peter turned around and barked in his face. "Where is she?"

"How would I know?" Walter had been snapped back to reality and his voice was loud and unsteady. "I saw her, and she was not exactly looking for you… In fact, she asked me for some… information…" Walter trailed sheepishly before walking out of Olivia's office to Gene's stall with a very agitated Peter in his wake.

"Information? What information? When?"

If she needed to see Walter to clear things up, that was bad, he thought.

"Oh," Walter waved his hand dismissively, "it was very early. I thought that we were under attack, she was pounding on our door, you know, like… She woke me up eventually. Well, she didn't really wake me up because I was already up and in the bathroom taking a l…"

"Walter? You should know that you don't want to make me extract this information from you."

"Oh, sorry, yes, I saw Olivia this morning."

"Walter…"

"But she wanted to see ME, not you," Walter squealed. He pointed a categorical finger under his son's nose, "so there's nothing that you should feel concerned about. You see Peter, not everything revolves around you."

With that, he scurried away back to his work. Peter slouched down on the bench and stared at the cow absently. Astrid startled him when she crouched down to gather the files.

"She was not here this morning," she said evenly. "She's probably going to work at the Division for a while, something about being behind her clerical work. You know how it is?" she stood up, shrugged, folding her arms on the files. "The Bureau, it's basically paper work and only ten percent sweat."

"Did she call you?"

She nodded. "She texted me actually. Around six. She had to meet someone first but she'll be downtown for the rest of the week. Except if there's a new case and she needs your father's expertise."

"Thanks Astrid. Could you…?" he gestured to his father.

"No problem."

-o-

Peter left the elevator and walked casually his way to Olivia's office. He didn't want to make a show of his visit, but bland in basically --not that it actually mattered to him but he just wanted to make sure that she had not assumed blindly that he was his private property and being hurt in the process. At the same time, he didn't want to rain on her parade that early in the day.

Not after that Nick Lane/Cortexiphan/buddy system revelation. Not to mention what Walter had told probably her without his knowledge. He had a pretty good idea of what revelation he might have done. Experimenting with children, for god's sake, he should have known better!

Deep down, he knew that the root of the problem was not only that she felt betrayed by her sister and a close friend. Her sister needed the attention and he needed the comfort, no real feelings involved, as it were. For whatever good or bad reason, they had missed that window of opportunity when they could have talked to her and come clean and they were found out, --and in her apartment no less.

_On the other hand__, she didn't tell me anything about being treated with Cortexiphan. Wrong, not the same –at all. _

He stopped before her office door and tried to regain some composure. He was here to get her trust back, though he pondered it was practically mission impossible. And apologize. Profusely. Even if it was useless.

She still might be mad at him after their unlikely weird dawn encounter in her kitchen. She had been mad since he had called Rachel about the song thing anyway. He should have talked to her the next day instead of teasing her about it. At least, she had tried to make things right. Except that things could not be right. Rachel was her sister. _Of all the girls I could have picked up? Rachel? Come on, it was a really dumb idea. _He knocked on her door and let himself in.

"Hello Olivia, I was in the neighb…"

But her office was as empty here as it was back at the lab. Gritting his teeth, he stepped back, closed the door and leisurely walked into the agent pool and scanned the place for agent Francis.

He leant over the shoulder of an ordinary brunette who was busy with her computer.

"Hello there, can I ask you where I can locate agent Francis or agent Dunham this morning?" he asked with his best smile. "It's kind of an emergency, sweetheart."

The female agent rewarded him with a contemptuous glare and shook her head. "I have no idea. They must be around. I was with Charlie this morning near the coffee machine. And…," she squinted and read his tag, "Civilian Consultant Peter Bishop, you don't want to call me sweetheart," she said, going back to her work.

Okay, so much for his boyish charm and attractive good looks. He was losing his touch.

"Bishop, what can I do for you?" a bass-baritone voice said in his back.

"Agent Broyles." He twirled around and faced him. "I was… I am looking for agent Dunham. She-she asked me to do some research and I'm here to report to her."

"She asked you to meet her here?"

"That's complicated."

"I see."

There was something about him. He could have sworn that Broyles was laughing at his expense.

"Did you try to call her?" asked Broyles, drawing his phone out of his pocket.

"She doesn't answer her phone and I…"

"Agent Dunham?" prompted Broyles without averting his eyes from Peter, "are you finished? Yes… I understand. Please call me back when you're done."

Peter winced. Whatever Olivia was up to, Broyles knew. But what was the full extent of this information, was another matter entirely.

"Is it case related, Bishop?"

"Well, sort of, you see…"

"If it is, I have no doubt that agent Dunham will contact you in due course. In the meantime, I suggest that you go back to where your presence is necessary and to whatever project you're cooking with Dr Bishop today."

"I would rather…"

"I am not interested in what you'd rather like or not, Bishop. Agent Dunham is an invaluable part of my team, and if she doesn't want to talk to you, if she doesn't want to relate to you or to interact with you in any way, I take it that she has a valid reason to do so. You will simply have to wait for her to change her mind."

"But…"

"Good day, Mr. Bishop."

He turned on his heels and left. Peter clearly heard the brunette chuckling from her desk. This was a time for extreme measures. He strode back to the elevator and punched the call button.

-o-

"Thank you sir, I appreciate sir." Olivia hung up and turned to Charlie.

"Broyles?" he rasped with a nod.

"Yep. I'm pretty sure that Peter was at the Fringe Division. He left me like twenty messages or something."

She aimed at the target and fired half a dozen times.

"You know that you're going to have to talk to him, eventually?" he said when the sound finally stopped echoing.

She took a deep breath and simply pressed the trigger again. Every single bullet reached its intended destination.

"You feeling any better Liv?"

"Yep, target practice always helps."

"I'm much more of a cinder track fan myself. It took me forty-four miles once just to calm down."

"I'm impressed," she chuckled.

"But in the end, I found that beating the guy down to a pulp was a much more efficient way to relax," Charlie added with a deadpan look.

She adjusted her earplugs.

"I'd rather go for live fire exercise right now but here in Boston, it could prove to be difficult."

"Unless you provide the younger Bishop with the proper equipment," Charlie quipped, eliciting giggles from her.

"Then I guess he could take lessons from you, marathon man."

"No one can outrun a pissed woman and escape her rightful wrath."

"Amen," she laughed, placing another round in the 10 ring of the moving target, shredding it to pieces.

"I'm going to grab some lunch, wanna come with?"

She hesitated, her eyes on the target and back on her beloved Beretta M9.

"You're right. I really have to eat something."

"Good girl. Well, pack your gear, we're on our way."


End file.
